


Mothering Day

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [24]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 03:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18307532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: It was Sherlock’s worst nightmare -- or so he claimed...





	Mothering Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellis_Hendricks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellis_Hendricks/gifts).



> Today was Mother's Day, or "Mothering Day", in the UK, and this is a little something for Ellis_Hendricks in honor of the occasion. Not betaed or Brit-picked, obviously, so please forgive any errors.
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“You’ve _what?_ ” Sherlock exclaimed, staring at the wife of his bosom as though she’d taken leave of her senses -- as indeed she had, if he had heard her correctly.

Molly stood her ground. “I’ve already made the reservation. Lunch at The Goring with your mum and mine, and Alicia Smallwood -- Mycroft has already confirmed they’ll be there -- followed by champagne and Simnel Cake here at home -- I’m going to do the cake myself, I’ve always wanted to try making that one. And I’ve invited John and Rosie, too. We’ll have a special toast to Mary.”

“We’re bringing the children to The Goring? And you _can’t_ have champagne, in case you’ve forgotten,” he almost sneered, gesturing toward the considerable swell of her abdomen, where their second son currently resided. “You’re bloody eight months gone!”

She flushed, but replied evenly, “I can have sparkling cider with Rosie and Will. And you know how well-behaved they’ve been when we take them to restaurants. They’ll be fine!”

“At _The Goring?_ The _Queen_ lunches there! This is _ridiculous!_ ” But he saw that, once again, he was blundering into Not Good territory. Her confidence wavered visibly, her eyes becoming suspiciously bright, and not in a good way. Backtracking, he said firmly, but in a more moderate tone, “Molly, it’s too much. You should be recruiting your strength, not spending extra hours on your feet to make a damned _cake!_ ”

“What you mean is it’s not what _you_ would like,” she said, a tiny quiver in her voice.

He sighed with a roll of his eyes, exasperated, yet well aware that he was losing this battle. He got in one more jab: “You _knew_ I wouldn’t like it, else you’d’ve--” But her lip trembled, and he gave it up. “For God’s sake, don’t _cry!_ ”

“I’m _not_ crying,” she asserted, even as she swiped at a tear that had spilled over to slip down her cheek.

Swearing under his breath, he took her by the wrist and pulled her over to the sofa.

Happily, they’d just put Will down for his nap. It took considerable time to soothe her, tenderly drying her tears and offering ( _mostly_ sincere) apologies for allowing his beastly selfishness to get the better of him. And after that, what with cuddling, tender kisses, and a fortuitous third-trimester mood swing, there ensued a really stellar interlude, one that went a long way toward reconciling him to Molly’s subterfuge, and even to the nightmarish prospect that loomed before him.

*

Sherlock had barely closed the door on the last of their guests when Molly piped up with an _I told you so!_

“There! I thought it went off beautifully,” she said, a lurking twinkle in her eye. “Would you like another sliver of cake?”

“Make it a big sliver,” he said, genially, but when she turned to go into the kitchen he was inspired to give her a light but nevertheless stinging smack on the arse.

She yelped in surprise and whirled to face him. “What was that for?” Her tone was resentful, but the laughter and shame in her eyes, and her flushed cheeks, told their own tale.

“You know what it was for,” he said, pulling her just a little roughly into his arms (as best he could, at least, with young Jon between them). He slid one hand down to caress her exquisite, and really only mildly abused backside (though a modicum of guilt still flayed his soul), and said, “Next time I’d like to be included in the _planning_ of the event, if you please.”

Her cheeks grew pinker. “But you would have told me _No!_ And I _wanted_ this. We don’t know how much longer our mothers will be with us. Mrs. Hudson, too. I’m so glad she could join us. And Greg.”

“Mmm.” Greg’s mother had passed the previous year. And Molly was right. One never knew. So he said to her, more seriously, “I won’t say _No_ next time. Alright?”

“You won’t?” She eyed him dubiously.

“It’ll either be _Maybe_ or _Yes_.”

“It had better be _Yes!_ ” she said --

And gave his own backside a firm pinch.

“Vixen!” he growled, and kissed her. She was laughing beneath it at first, then hummed with pleasure, her hands beginning to roam provocatively. He followed suit -- there was, indeed, something to be said for trust and hard-won knowledge -- and he had just begun to ruche up the back of her skirt when a distant but familiar cry came to their ears and they froze.

Will, who’d gone down for a nap on their return from the restaurant, was apparently awake.

Sherlock sighed, “I’ll get him,” and reluctantly released his delectable armful of wife.

“I’ll cut you a slice of cake,” Molly replied -- but her fingers closed on the lapel of his coat, bringing him to a halt. She looked up at him, a half smile on her lips. “Later?”.

He bent and, in a low voice, said against her ear, “No _Maybe_ about it.”

 

~.~

 


End file.
